


From This Moment

by earthseed_fic



Series: Clint and and Phil In Love [3]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, F/M, M/M, Pining, Prom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-06
Updated: 2014-10-06
Packaged: 2018-02-20 02:18:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2411336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/earthseed_fic/pseuds/earthseed_fic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If not for the giant Eiffel Tower and the tuxes, this could be just any night out with their friends. (They spent a surprising amount of time, under normal circumstances, spiking punch and taking hilariously awkward pictures.) But it wasn't any other night. It was prom and there was dancing and twinkly lights and Clint's shy smiles and Phil found himself falling deeper and deeper</p>
            </blockquote>





	From This Moment

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ralkana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ralkana/gifts).



"Stop freaking out, Phil. You're going to give yourself a panic attack."

Phil glared at his phone and concentrated on his bowtie. He was an expert multi-tasker. "I'm glaring at you," he told Melinda.

"Tell me something I don't know."

It was said in jest, with the exasperated sigh Melinda reserved for all of Phil's Clint-related drama. But thing was there _was_ something she didn't know because Phil hadn't known himself until that morning. He took a deep breath. "I'm going to tell him tonight," he said in one breath.

He could hear Melinda's eye roll. "Phil," she said, with the kind of deliberate patience one used to explain a very simple concept to someone particularly slow on the uptake. "You are 10 minutes away from Clint picking you up to go to _prom_. I'm pretty sure he already knows you like-like him. And I'm also sure the feeling's mutual."

It was an old argument between them. He and Clint had been inseparable since the second semester of sophomore year. Clint, brand new at the school, came upon a fight in the parking lot. Without a word and seemingly without any thought to personal injury, Clint put himself between a pre-growth spurt Steve and a 'roid raged Garret, earning himself a wicked black eye, detention, and the fierce loyalty of Phil's motley crew.

And, really, it was impossible not to adore Clint. He was funny and sneaky and fearless and smart, not to mention hot as the fucking sun. The more Phil got to know him, the more he fell. But Clint spent the majority of junior year smitten with Natasha, their relationship fueled by the kind of intensity that only teenage hormones and adolescent drama can produce. By the summer before their senior year, Phil had learned to live with the status quo of their relationship--best friends and nothing more. So it only hurt a little (or maybe a lot, but Phil isn't keeping track) when Clint and Nat broke up and Clint came out as bi. Clint not wanting him because he didn't like guys was something Phil could deal with. Clint making goo-goo eyes and feeling up Grant Ward at the skate park bordered on torture. 

Once senior year started, though, Clint didn't date anyone, preferring to spend his free time watching Star Wars marathons at Phil's house, or teaching Phil how to use a bow, or trying to learn all the lyrics on _Paul's Boutique_. They sat together at lunch and texted snark to each other during school assemblies. And if every once in a while Phil caught Clint staring and thought he saw a hint of _something_ in his best friend's eyes, well, you could hardly fault a guy for hoping.

But here was the thing, and he'd told Melinda this a thousand times. Clint wasn't shy about what he wanted. And since he'd never once even hinted that he was interested in Phil romantically, that only left one conclusion.

"He's not interested in me that way, Mel," he said.

"If you really believe that, why tell him how you feel?"

Phil sighed. He was tired of hoping, tired of pretending, tired of not being able to say out loud how he really felt. Plus, he wanted to kiss Clint so badly sometimes he felt like he might die from wanting it so much. "Maybe I can convince him to give this a shot," he answered finally. "And, if not, at least I'll know for sure."

"There's no risk here, Phil. Clint's crazy about you," she said. "But, if the whole thing goes to hell, come find me and Nick. We'll take you home."

"Thanks," Phil replied. His friends really were the best. Pushy and loud and opinionated, sure, but also the very best.

"I'm hanging up now," Melinda told him. "I gotta get beautiful. See you soon."

~+~+~+~+~+~+~ 

When Phil came downstairs twenty minutes later he wasn't quite sure what to expect when he saw Clint. They'd talked about what they'd wear (after Phil got over the shock of Clint suggesting they go together instead of each getting dates), but when Phil (with zero regret) nixed his idea of a sleeveless purple tuxedo, Clint decided his ensemble would be a surprise. He'd spent the last month describing increasingly more horrible outfits ("so, ixnay on the faux fur cummerbund?"), much to Phil's horror. Phil prepared himself for the worst.

What he couldn't prepare for was Clint in a retro-style black tux, cuffs hanging loose at his wrists, purple sparkly tie around his neck, purple Chucks on his feet. His hair was just a touch too long and was already a mess where Clint ran his fingers through it while he talked to Phil's parents. In short, Clint looked so utterly like himself and also like practically every fantasy Phil had ever had about him (not counting the ones that involved very little clothing) that Phil had to stop at the bottom of the stairs and catch his breath.

Clint turned just then, a grin lighting up his entire face when he saw Phil. "Hey," he said.

Shaking himself out of his fog, he crossed the rest of the distance to Clint. "Hey, yourself. You look great." Phil figured he should begin the evening has he planned to end it--honest about what he was feeling.

His compliment got him a cheeky grin, which Phil knew was Clint's defense against the self-deprecation that was always his first impulse. "I got you something." Clint produced a floral box from the hand Phil hadn't even noticed he'd been holding behind his back. "Ta-da!" he said, presenting the boutonnière, identical to the one he wore, with a flourish.

And this was why Phil was always a bit of a wreck around Clint. How was he supposed to read this thoughtful gesture, accompanied, as it was, by the ever-present mischievous glint in Clint's eyes? Was Clint just having fun with all the trappings of prom? Or had he actually _bought Phil flowers_? Phil didn't want to get this wrong, but he _wanted_ so much more, "You didn't have to," he said. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his parents whisper to each other and leave the room.

Suddenly Clint was standing very, very close. "What? And be the only dorks without fancy flowers for our fancy suits? You'd die of shame." Clint had taken the boutonnière out of the box and moved to pin it on.

Clint was so close--Phil could smell his shampoo and see the stubble on his chin and feel little puffs of breath on his own cheek as Clint concentrated. And for the second time that evening, he forgot how to breathe. "I can do that," he started. 

Clint looked up at Phil through long lashes. "I'm pretty sure the rule book says that the guy who buys the fancy flower gets to pin the fancy flower."

Phil grinned, Clint's charm hitting its mark. "You read a prom rule book?" he asked, incredulously.

"If you weren't perpetually dubious, I'd be offended by your lack of faith." He worked silently for a few moments on the boutonniere. Then he said, quietly, not quite meeting Phil's eye, "You look really good, too, y'know."

"Yeah?" Phil was going for casual, but was certain the blush he felt creeping up his neck gave him away.

"Yeah," he replied. "You should wear a suit more often." Satisfied with his work, Clint looked at Phil, his gaze soft and open and honest.

Do it, Phil's heart screamed. Do it now! Tell him! "Thanks," was all he could manage, though, reluctant as he was to shatter the moment, even though he didn't quite understand what the moment was.

His parents chose that moment to return with the camera. Before he knew it, after a rush of pictures and promises to stay safe and a few tears, Phil found himself sitting across from Clint in the limo they were sharing with Tripp and Jemma. The moment was gone, but Phil was determined not to miss the next one.

~+~+~+~+~+~+~

Pepper Potts chaired the prom committee, which meant that the ballroom at the local Hilton had been turned into a charming and understated Evening in Paris. The decor managed to be both romantic and playful, satisfying both those who hoped to consummate true love and those aiming for one last hurrah before graduation.

If not for the giant Eiffel Tower and the tuxes, this could be just any night out with their friends. (They spent a surprising amount of time, under normal circumstances, spiking punch and taking hilariously awkward pictures.) But it wasn't any other night. It was prom and there was dancing and twinkly lights and Clint's shy smiles and Phil found himself falling deeper and deeper. While his brain fully understood that he and Clint were NOT on a date, his heart couldn't quite help but *hope* every time he felt Clint's hand at the small of his back, or when Clint leaned close to be heard over the music. But whenever he felt the time was right to tell Clint how he truly felt, Clint would slip away to gossip with Nat, or help Tony prank Steve without getting caught by Bucky, or charm an unimpressed Maria on to the dance floor. By the time Clint was called to the front of the ballroom to stand with the rest of the prom court for the announcement of prom king and queen, the tangle of emotions that defined his relationship with Clint was as intense and confusing and frustrating as it had ever been. He was beginning to think their right moment might never come.

Busy as he was trying to get his feelings in check, he didn't notice when Skye appeared next to him. "So," she said with faux-casual disinterest, "it looks like our Lonely Hearts Club is breaking up."

He gave her a skeptical eye. "We're both still completely gone on people who are oblivious. I'll be at the next meeting."

"My crush can't keep her eyes off Tripp," she said, looking wistfully across the ballroom at Jemma, who, in turn was looking up at Tripp as if he were the only person in the world who mattered.

"Well, to be fair, he _is_ ridiculously hot," Phil said.

She punched him playfully on his shoulder. "Your crush, though, can't keep his eyes off _you_."

Phil shook his head. "That's just Clint being Clint." From the front of the ballroom, Clint caught his eye and winked. Which just proved Phil right. Or wrong. He couldn't tell anymore.

"You're wrong," said Skye, as if reading his mind. "That's Clint being crazy about you."

Before Phil could reply, Principal Hand asked for the crowd's attention for the announcement of that year's prom king and queen. "After an entertaining campaign," she began, with a sarcastic emphasis on the word 'entertaining' and a glance at the male half of the court (which included Steve, Clint, Sitwell, and Sam), "and a record number of votes, I am pleased to present your Prom King and Queen--Clint Barton and Pepper Potts."

The crowd erupted in raucous applause. Pepper was blushing slightly, as she usually did when her considerable skill and charm resulted in recognition. Clint, as expected, mugged for the crowd as Hand placed glittery plastic crowns on their heads.

"And now," Hand continued, "the King and Queen will have their first dance." The DJ started to play the latest pop hit designed to spark fantasies of true love and destiny and Phil was suddenly quite certain that he couldn't spend another minute of his life pretending that friendship would be enough. He was also equally sure he couldn't risk losing Clint's friendship by confessing feelings that might not be mutual. So he was fucked, basically. Consequently, listening to love songs while Clint danced with someone else was considerably more than he was prepared to handle at that moment.

"Hey," he said to Skye, "I'm going to step out for a moment."

She grabbed his arm. "Wait. What are they doing?"

Pepper and Clint hadn't started to dance yet. Instead, they talked quietly for a few moments before turning back to the crowd. Clint motioned for the DJ to stop the music, and then took the microphone. 

"Pepper and I were talking," he began before glancing back at Pepper. She nodded, urging him on. "We've decided to exercise some royal discretion. As much fun as it would be to twirl around the dance floor with the lovely Ms. Potts," ("Watch it Barton," Tony yelled from the crowd), "we both would much prefer to dance with our dates."

Next to him, Skye erupted into tiny squeals of "oh my god! oh my god!" and Phil was finding that breathing thing to be a problem again. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from Clint and when Clint's gaze finally found his own, Phil could see, even across the room, the same soft and open and honest expression as before.

"Could Tony and Phil please come up here?" Clint asked. 

"Go," Skye practically yelled in his ear. Truth be told, he was having a little trouble getting his feet to work. "Go!" Skye shoved him forward and he barely registered his friends patting him on the back and cat-calling (though he's fairly certain he did hear Melinda's eye-roll), caught as he was in Clint's gaze. 

They met in the middle of the dance floor, and this time, when the DJ started the song and Clint took Phil in his arms, Phil let himself believe in destiny and true love.

"Hey," Clint said.

"So this is a date?" Phil asked. He couldn't help himself. His heart needed to be sure.

"If you want it to be."

Phil realized with a shock that Clint was nervous. "I definitely want it to be," he assured him. "You could have just asked me."

Clint tucked his head into the space where Phil's neck me his shoulder. "I was scared you'd say no."

As much as Phil was enjoying finally (finally!) being able to touch Clint the way he'd wanted to for the last two years, his brain was still having trouble processing the fact that Clint imagined there was a universe in which Phil wasn't crazy about him. He ducked his head to catch Clint's eye. "What? Why would I say no?"

"Phil," Clint huffed, clearly struggling for words. "You…you shine so bright that sometimes it's hard just to look at you. You're…everything. Everything."

And now it was Phil who couldn't quite find the words. "Um, if you don't want me to kiss you in front of all our friends, I suggest you come up with a Plan B, quick."

Clint grinned. "I wasn't kidding when I said you should wear suits more often. I've been wanting to kiss you since you came down the stairs at your house. Our friends will get over it."

Clint leaned in, just a tentative press of lips at first, but he grew bolder with each sigh and moan from Phil. Clint, in a surprise to no one, was an amazing kisser and Phil, in even less of a surprise, was already figuring out how to spend as much time as he could doing nothing but kissing Clint.

"Do you want to get out of here?" Clint asked when they finally broke apart. (Somewhere in the distance Phil could hear a chorus of "Finally!" and "That took long enough.")

"God, yes," he replied, happy that his eagerness solicited a wicked grin from Clint, happier still that he didn't have to hide how he felt.

~+~+~+~+~+~+~ 

They woke up the next morning in one of the rooms in the beach house Tony had rented for the weekend. They wandered into the kitchen, following the smell of coffee and bacon, wearing matching goofy grins and barely taking their eyes off one another.

"I take it things went well after the big reveal," Melinda smirked from her perch on the breakfast bar. She and Nat were instructing Sam on proper egg-scrambling techniques (though Phil suspected they were mostly checking out his butt, as he'd decided to prepare breakfast clad only in his boxers).

"You could say that," Clint replied, blushing slightly.

And as the previous night had taught Phil that a blushing Clint was maybe his favorite thing ever, he leaned in for quick kiss, which turned rather quickly into a fairly filthy kiss.

"Oh my god, get a room," growled Bucky, entering the kitchen followed by a beaming Steve. 

Phil was surrounded by his friends, wrapped around the guy he adored, and happier than he could ever remember being in his whole life. Phil grabbed a handful of grapes from the bowl at the center of the bar. He fed a couple to Clint, threw one at Melinda (Nat caught it without looking and at it herself), and let himself savor this moment.


End file.
